Definition of Perfection
by The Forbidden Secrets
Summary: The glittering icons of the elite that were the Towers held their secrets, masked by the very perfection they pretended to be. Some secrets, however, can't be chained down forever. Pre-war. Oneshot. Mirage/Starscream


Title: Definition of Perfection  
Pairing: Mirage/Starscream  
Rating: Pg-13 (T)  
Disclaimer: I don't own. I wasn't even born yet.  
Note: IDW times used.  
AN: Just a small child of mine that begged to be written. Enjoy.

It was back before their world had been consumed by the fires of war. The Towers had stood proudly as a shimmering testimony to the power and affluence of the wealthy surrounded by the growing imperfections that those living there had all been too blind to see coming. The days were rich with idle conversation and backstabbing power plays while sparklings roamed their homes without the knowledge of hunger and their elder siblings chased turbo foxes for amusement or drowned in the newest gossip available.

One wrong move could bring anyone down and it was always the sport of favor to try to expedite the process for anyone who had crossed you. Who needed enemies when you had _'polite_ _company'_ to idle your time away with? Their society was, in their minds, perfection, and so were they.

Even the dark whispers that caused people to disappear and for young mechs to drown under the weight of their status in inebriating concoctions and self termination were perfect. The strange figures that were bullied into the halls of their affluence were perfect too, with the chains hung perfectly around their necks while their optics struggled to see through the blinders placed about them.

What else could they possibly be?

Deep in the underground levels of the Towers there resided a dancer, though not by choice if the restraints and power limiters were any indicator. His optics were almost frighteningly dull as he moved, strangely lithe feet barely scraping the floor as he kept pace with the rhythm thrumming through the walls. He was a creature of fascination for the elite who had never seen such a being up close or at all. Wings, they were obviously wings but could they really give him flight?, protruded from his shoulders making him appear larger than he truly was while his smaller than usual feet were adorned with heel like turbines that thrummed as he moved. They were told he was a fighter, a mass produced monster from the city of Vos that had been tamed for their singular indulgence.

The dancer's keeper proudly boasted on the 'Seekers' power, often spinning tales on how if let loose and properly fueled (for the dancer was always half starved) he could rip into them like scrap metal. But they were the elite and they were perfect and it would never happen. Not to them.

So nightly the dancer kept being perfect as well.

The seeker was achingly beautiful and tantalizingly dangerous in form drawing even the snobbiest of the Towerlings to the depths of their world to catch a glimpse of one of their darker secrets. No one ever stayed for too long though, nobody dared to have their name linked to the creature who seduced his watchers without emotion. It was not proper to be caught by something of such low class after all, not proper and not perfect.

Eventually even the younger children of the tower had heard tale of the dancer and those just old enough to be considered full-grown made their daring way down as well. Most became bored quickly of the treasure, still new enough in creation to be fascinated by idle sport and luxury. But one never left.

Nightly he made the trek down to the lower levels, never once worrying about the unwatchful eyes of his creators, to watch the seeker dance. Brilliant blue optics gazed intently at the melancholy form the flyer posed as nightly until eventually he was alone in the violet washed room with the object of his attention.

The seeker slowed his dance to a stop, optics alighting for the first time since his imprisonment as he stared at the younger mech before him. His captor was away for the moment but as long as he was bound there was no escape; his energy too low to support flight. The Towerling before him that had been there every night as far back as he cared to recall said nothing of his lack of performance, rather he just kept watching, as if he was content to just be the only soul in the room.

Smiling ruefully, more of a grimace then any joyful emotion, he spared the noblemech a quiet greeting, his voice strained from lack of function. "My name is Starscream. I graduated from the Iacon's Academy, and I am a scientist."

"I am Mirage," the nobelmech replied. His optics flashed uncertainly for a moment as he truly took in, probably for the first time, the captive before him. The dulled reds and blues of the seeker's paint were probably brilliant once and at some point he had probably made a stunning sight streaking across the sky free from the chains that ground him to the earth in jealousy of his flight. The tips of his fingers were marred from years of work and strain and his body was littered with tiny imperfections of a life lived. "I was created here in the towers, and I'm not much of anything at all."

And that was that. Starscream offered him one last glance before turning and walking off the stage that he was damned to grace night after night leaving Mirage alone, drowning in the dark shadows of the room once the dancer was gone.

That morning, as he awoke from a near sleepless recharge, he gazed at his perfect room with all its shimmering light and felt nothing of the pride he once had, just the overwhelming feeling that all he had, all he was, was worthless. He didn't return to watch the seeker for a deca-cycle, attempting to swallow his new feelings in the finest energon and the best sport offered on their planet. In trysts and power plays he tried to convince himself that the stagnation he felt was nothing but a passing notion that would soon fade from his memory banks.

The night before he returned to the Underground he caught glimpse of the sky outside their walls eclipsing from a dusk red to an endless black and he was unable to swallow the bitter thought the sky was such a more beautiful stage to dance across.

Once again swathed in the low toned crowd that blended to form a lecherous mass he watched the seeker perform. There was no emotion on his face, no flicker of life that would have separated him from a mindless worker drone. Pushing his way up to the front bit by agonizing bit he finally reached the stage, his hands pressed against the cold surface as he stared up at the seeker, mentally begging the flyer to acknowledge him in some fashion. A flash of red, blaring optics locking onto his own before diming back again into darkness was all he was offered. It was enough.

He waited endlessly it seemed as his fellow elite slowly became bored of their sport and left. He was given no further recognition until at long last the captor left, loudly conversing with a few of the higher-class hoping to grease his own hands in wealth he wasn't sparked into. The keeper cast him an appraising look before dismissing him as nothing but a sparkling.

"You're here again."

It was a particularly bland statement, not questioning nor accusing, a mere statement of fact. Looking back up towards Starscream he caught red against blue, the seeker appearing to consider him carefully for a moment. "I don't come that often." Mirage lied quietly, confidence built upon years of ego wilting under the flyer's stare.

"It's been a while." Starscream conceded before adding sharply, "You used to come nightly."

Mirage was unsure if he should feel flattered or embarrassed that the older mech had noticed him, or further still concerned over the seeker's observational skills. "You're beautiful." He answered instead, hoping a compliment might ease some of his embarrassment and wave away any questions that might come attached to Starscream's statement. It was a true statement as far as he was concerned anyways.

The seeker didn't look impressed in the slightest, not the Mirage could blame him.

Sparing a glance to the door behind him Mirage firmed his resolve, hands planted on the stage hoisting his body up to join the dancer. Standing so close to the seeker he was startled to find that Starscream was indeed larger than him, not even counting his wings, and from a proper perspective his grace only lent to the danger that exuded from the older mech. Pushing his boundaries he stepped closer to the seeker and slowly, so he wouldn't startle his companion, placed his hand against Starscream's cockpit.

Starscream, for his part, accepted the noblemech's advance gracefully, if not a bit wary of his intentions. He had been severely frustrated when the first mech he had spoken to openly since the academy had vanished the night after. He was about to question the elite when he was cut off.

"Those," Mirage gestured to the bonds that kept Starscream imprisoned in the Towers, the deep pink cords that clashed horribly with the seeker's colors and were almost impossible to ignore though Primus knows he had tried. "If you were properly fueled, could you break them?"

Red optics flashed in mild surprise, expecting more of a _personal_ advance instead of such an open question. Humming lowly he pulsed his sensor arrays out to test the bonds for the first time in ages… since the beginning of his imprisonment. "They are weaker now then when they were made since they were never replaced. I could break them with the power limiter removed, I can't reach it though. It's located in the back of my neck." He pointed vaguely to the vents that prevented him from having any sort of reach to his neck.

Nodding silently Mirage let go of Starscream as he circled to the flyer's back and as non aggressively as possible dug his fingers into the sensitive plating at the back of the seeker's neck, praying that Starscream would recognize his actions as help and not an attack. A growl slipped past the seeker's lips but he made no move to knock Mirage away as the noblemech poked around, inexperience making the procedure more painful then it really had to be.

A quiet 'ah ha' reached Starscream's audio receptors followed quickly by his power lines flooding once again with their intended currents. The sudden recirculation of power caused his optics to glitch out for a moment, just long enough to allow Mirage to have his hand tweaking open a panel in his side before they came back online. "What the slag are you-" he screeched only to end up with the smaller mech's hand over his mouth.

"Shut your vocalizer Starscream." Mirage hissed back, fingers deftly opening a panel in his own side and tweaking out a fuel line with a grimace before routing it into Starscream's. The act was embarrassingly intimate for something he was doing to be practical and as he stared determinedly at the ground he only hopped that the supposed war mech turned scientist wouldn't kill him for his daring.

"Why?"

The question was softly spoken and strangled, like Starscream didn't really want to ask it, and Mirage almost missed it altogether. "You'd be more beautiful against the sky." He answered honestly, finally tearing his optics back up to meet Starscream's crimson.

"I'll never come back."

Mirage flinched at the seeker's blunt statement but nodded anyways. "I know." Carefully detaching the fuel line, satisfied that Starscream was properly fueled with the highest grade energon he has probably functioned on in ages, not sure what to say now that the seeker had the power to force his way out of his prison if the boastful words of the captor were to be believed.

Starscream looked just as indecisive for a moment before he grabbed Mirage roughly by the shoulders, bringing their lips together in a near painful kiss. The metal at his shoulders twinged with the sheer pressure the seeker was using to hold him in place as his hands found whatever purchase he could at Starscream's waist, fingers scratching thin lines across the dulled red paint. The embrace was brutal and desperate, needy from so many nights of suppressed desire and the regained taste of freedom. Starscream's hands left superficial mars across his form while overcharged circuits running haywire in the seeker's body enticed his own current into responding favorably to every touch, every caress, every grip that left its mark on his memories, imprinted in his spark to be cherished forever.

Faster than he could regain his composure Starscream was gone leaving Mirage close to overheating and with an entirely new definition of what perfection was.

It was discovered in the morning that Starscream's keeper had been brutally murdered, his spark chamber torn open and completely destroyed while his body had been methodically dismembered. Mirage had no doubts about who had killed the lower class trafficker and even when presented with the corpse itself (a tragedy always made for good morning gossip after all) he felt no remorse over the death he had inadvertently caused. He only wished he could have seen Starscream _fly_.

The day when he had finally seen the seeker again, painted in purple and shrieking his rage to the heavens while he brutally tore away at the symbol of power that invaded his skies, had been the day that he had abandoned his finery for war.

The Towers had alighted with flames that ate ravenously at the vices that had built their world of silver painted lies and masks, killing most of them and leaving the rest helpless in the world they had never paid attention to. Running for his life away from the wreckage he was quickly over taken by the fierce thrum of a flyer's turbines and engine. Turning sharply he looked up to find Starscream, his beloved imprisoned dancer, brilliantly outlined by the fire that ranged beyond him. The deep reds of his optics were no longer calculating but were instead consumed by loathing, burning like supernovas amidst the destruction he caused. Landing with all of his past grace the seeker approached Mirage without a word, his hand extending a pulse blaster to the now ex-elite. The cold feeling of steel and _true_ power settled in his delicate hands before the seeker took back off to rejoin his trine, keeping his long ago promise that he really would never return to Mirage, even if the younger mech wished for nothing else.

He was right though, Starscream had never looked better then when he was soaring through the skies; elevated in a world that ground based mechs could never hope to understand.

Perfection.

It had been more time then he cared to think about since those days, since his home and world of crystal had shattered. Battle had become nothing more than the 'everyday' since they had landed on mud ball called Earth and memories of what had sparked the war in the first place slowly corroded under the constant pressure of life or death. Kaon and Vos were vague phantoms in their data logs and the senate that had bred the corruption nothing but relics.

The Decepticon cause was undoubtedly corrupted and the Autobots that fought bravely to protect the life of everyone they came across barely resembled the military force that had kept 'order' on Cybertron and had created the rift between the classes. Even still, as he looked to the skies under the hail of fire and saw his dancer, powerful and just as beautiful as he ever was against the skies with optics still filled with hate, he wondered once again what anything he had was worth.

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